Winning a Losing Game
by TheGreatSnuffles
Summary: 'Mysteries revolve around this mansion... too many mysteries, and they decided to come and check it out... They should have just left before the front door closed behind them. They'd never see living daylight, or their people again...' HetaOni. Told from an OC's POV.


_**A/N: It's very strange writing from a country's point of view, so I hope you'll review, favorite and story alert. Tell me how I can improve!**_

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_Endless...Hopeless...Pointless..._

Those are the three feelings I usually have being stuck inside here. I can't save anybody, I can't keep anybody alive... and the problem is, I'm losing a game I need to win.

_Endless_... This game I'm trapped in will never end... and I mean will _never _end.

_Hopeless_... I have no hope of beating him, no matter how much time and effort I put into it. I just can't do it... it's... impossible.

_Pointless_... Well... I'm not going to repeat myself. It's pretty self explanatory really. I mean... I thought _I_ was stupid!

Anyway...

Now you're going to tell me to improve, to get better... and maybe to stop being such a lazy arse. But the problem is... that'll never happen... I'll always be on the losing end of the stick, I'll always be trying (and failing) to win a game... no, a war, with hands tied behind my back and my eyes punched out.

Time and time again, my efforts have been ripped in two. I've seen many groups of people wander in here and never make it back alive. I've seen many brutal and gory scenes of people walking in and never returning. I've seen it all. The blood, the guts, the gore... the pain.

Even I'd experienced the pain... my sorrows grew with every passing loss: every single victory was his. I got attached; some could say, too _attached_. Maybe that was why I lost so much...maybe that's why I got too close to thoughts of glory and victory and being on top and then being pushed down to the very bottom, to the pits of despair where I was forced into being drowned in my loss.

Maybe...

No.

I didn't. It wasn't my fault they had died. It wasn't my fault they had died. It wasn't my fault... It wasn't...

It was.

The reason they weren't saved is because I wasn't competent enough. I wasn't brave, I always hid behind the shadows and watched them, helpless against _him_. I watched them get brutally killed every time, I saw them get their heads sliced clean off their necks, or their hearts ripped from out of their chests.

He made it brutal just to taunt me, so he could laugh at me behind my back, after the latest wave, as he had called it, had finished.

He only ever talked briefly and he thought we had this bond. A bond that only we could have because we fought this much. I didn't think like that, oh no...

I hated his guts.

And I wanted to spill them.

Everywhere.

For my precious little team of victors to see...

**If it ever happened.**

There was always a failure, proceeded by another failure, with another failure coming straight after. I had seen dozens... hundreds...thousands, die at his reach, and with his grip he strangled them, bled their lives from them, enrapturing their souls for his harvest.

A monster in human form, that's what most could describe him as.  
Only a few had managed to get to his hiding place... to see his true self... his horrible, twisted self.

I hadn't. He refused to show me, yet he said only those brave enough would get to see him.  
What an insult to take another blow to my subconscious...

I hate his guts.

And I want to spill them so much. _So very much._

_Maybe that'll put an end to this..._

But I'd tried to find him in this bloody mansion too many times. I had given up a long time ago. 1009 years, 6 months, 5 days, 12 hours and 6 minutes is long enough for a war to last, heck there are still wars between countries in the vast world out there, but never as long as ours (and yes, I have been keeping count.). Ours were of wits, not of our strength, gallantry or courage, but of using our brain power.

After all, that was the only thing that prevailed in the end for him; for all of us. If I could beat him, even just once, I could escape with them, to laugh at this godforsaken house, leaving my troubles behind as I ran from it.

From him.

From the constant ridicule that hung over my head.

I wouldn't be able to live in fear of it anymore.

Never would I have to live in fear of him, or any of his manipulations. _Never..._

**For the rest of my eternity, I could have the freedom I deserved.**

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_Just a subtle reminder: REVIEW, FAVORITE and STORY ALERT, please!_


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